I shot a wedding yesterday, but it hasn't hit the news yet, so I don't think anyone's found the bodies.
I'm kidding. My first official, paid photography gig was as the candid photographer at a wedding. There was a professional photographer there, as well, with a fancy-assed camera that had attachments and a battery pack who took the more formal pictures, and then there was me, who wandered around for TWELVE HOURS trying to remember if I had taken a picture of this or that stranger and figure out how to take a decent photo in a dim room under a disco ball while also trying not to collapse from the exhaustion brought on by Mystery Virus XC3908.
I actually quite enjoyed myself, despite contracting Mystery Virus XC3908 from a certain bridesmaid and setting myself up for having to go through a few gigabytes of photographs. The bride and groom were lovely people with lovely friends, and the entire wedding party made me cry at least once each with all the sweetness and sincerity going around. In a way, I wish weddings and funerals happened more often. The people at the centre of the excitement are always noted as being saint-like in their ability to love, give, and make others laugh. Rarely are we so generous.
I am working at keeping my tone light tonight, because Mystery Virus XC3908 is making me irritable. It is even irritating to write. These sentences keep traipsing along the page without enough periods and far too many words ending in -ing. It's the fever.
Oh, my booty, it is being severely kicked. In actuality, my butt hurts because I have done nothing but slouch into an armchair all day, which would be a fixable situation if remaining upright for the short trip to the kitchen didn't make the world tilt on its axis.
In short, I took hundreds of photographs, contracted a virus, and my butt hurts, which have all culminated in this. And still, I publish!
I like you.